Sunday, May 20, 2012
The Last American President
Going over it all again, connecting the dots -- a few of which I hadn't connected before.
Remembering JFK, and Bobby and Martin.
Remembering them alive, remembering hearing them speak
Remembering how their words choked me up
Expressing so perfectly
My own dreams and visions.
My young heart's hopes for something better.
And I imagine, in fitful dreams, what might have been
had they lived.
The world that might have been.
The America that might have been.
Our plight now
Is the the logical conclusion
Of what a group of greedy psychopaths began
Back in 1963.
Iraq, Afghanistan and a dozen other dirty, secret little wars.
The Patriot Act. The NDAA and all the rest.
It's the third act of a tragic play.
Hamlet on a global scale.
The footlights are low
And backstage, they're getting ready to bring the final curtain
Down on America.
Every President since then has been an accessory after the fact
In Jack's Murder.
And many, many, many more.
So many dark and bloody deeds, the killers are awash in innocent blood.
Jack was the Last American President.
He was my President.
And he still is.